


Trade Mistakes

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark!Matt, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, POV Multiple, The power of friendship, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: Wilson Fisk and Matt Murdock both exist within Hell's Kitchen on an unsteady peace. That is, until Karen Page kills James Wesley.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from: Trade Mistakes by Panic! At the Disco
> 
> I started this off with the intention of it being serious...and then I got amused ??? so I wouldn't take this so seriously  
> 

_:i:_

The truce went unspoken, but honoured as if binding and forever. Naturally, that didn't stop them from stepping on each others toes or dancing along the delicately thin line separating war and peace. But then again, was it really home without scandals and terror plaguing the city?

Hell's Kitchen is small. Simply, it's a few blocks of downtown Manhattan, but it is home to several branches of mafia; all with their own agendas and secrets. Men, woman, and all those outside and in-between who have no problem terrorizing the citizens of the city, nor have any qualms about killing and stealing or whatever is needed to be done in their search for the highest power.

Hell's Kitchen is also home to Wilson Fisk and Matthew Murdock.

They weren't quiet about their presence. In fact, their unsteady peace and ongoing war was the constant talk of local tabloids, newspapers, and broadcasting stations. As well as the bane of Hell's Kitchen P.D

But there is peace.

That is, until Karen Page unloads a full round of shots into James Wesley's chest.

_:i:_

The night air is a welcome feeling in comparison to the hot and stuffy prison the hospital has slowly become over the day. Claire shivers under her thin cardigan, rubbing her arms. She doesn't have long, but five minutes of peace does wonders.

She walks across the porte-cochere to the little garden area across from the entrance. It's not that great looking, the grass and flowers trampled and neglected, yellow. But there are huge, thick rocks to sit on and it's far enough from the entrance that she's not in the fray of things giving her some semblance of privacy.

“Coffee?” a voice asks from the shadows immediately catching Claire's attention. She huffs out a laugh, though she's not too sure if she's amused or not.

“Only if you bring it here,” is her answer, her breath coming out in wispy, white puffs. The days are getting shorter and colder and she knows she won't be able to sit out here and enjoy it for very much longer, not before the snow robs her of it.

The woman waltz's out of the shadows with a mischievous smirk Claire is convinced is permanent, holding two tall coffee cups.

When she's close enough she hands one to Claire, their fingers brushing lightly in the exchange. The woman finds immense pleasure in that brief contact, said pleasure alighting her eyes. Claire simply stares at her warily, eyes narrowed. Claire takes a sip of the drink, finding it be exactly how she likes it.

Not that she expected anything less from her.

“How has your day been?” the woman asks, looking down at her. The light from the entrance barely reaches them, leaving half her face illuminated.

Claire regards her for a moment before answering.

“Busy, hectic.”

She doesn't have much more to say. Everyday it's the same song but not the same dance. She's tired, she wants some sleep, but has another twelve hours before she can do so.

“Why are you here,” Claire asks, though not unkindly.

“What,” the woman feigns hurt, “can't I visit my favourite Metro-General nurse?”

Claire raises an eyebrow over her cup, “Oh, so you have another favourite nurse from some other hospital?”

It's meant to be teasing. And she knows the woman knows this, but that doesn't seem to stop the woman's smile from faltering.

The woman reaches out, her hands sporting black, finger-less leather with her nails painted to match. But she falls short of actually touching Claire, her fingers curling together as she stops herself.

“Of course not,” she defends, voice low yet sincere.

Claire hums as if she doesn't quiet believe her.

They don't say anything after that. Claire doesn't feel the need to fill the silence and the woman, as far she can tell, is content to watch her in silence.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Claire says, standing up and handing off her empty cup, “Elektra,” she finishes, the weight of the woman's name on her tongue more than Claire feels it should be, but it's there nonetheless.

Claire doesn't linger, not like the other is prone to doing. She does, however, look back over her shoulder just before the doors escort her back to the real world, which causes the woman's sharp gaze to soften.

_:i:_

Across the city, Karen Page is sitting in a dazed panic. Her heart is beating erratically in her chest to the point where she thinks she's might throw it up, yet her mind is fuzzy and everything feels numb, unreal.

She swallows thickly, looking around the abandoned warehouse she was brought to. It's dirty and musty and the air sends a chill down her spine.

It only worsens when her eyes land on the door.

She may have killed Wesley, but she knows for a fact she can't handle killing anyone else. She knows that it's kill or be killed. Has known that since day one. But being here and now, tasting gun power in the back of her throat and seeing the blood blossoming on Wesley's shirt through blurry eyes, she knows she can't do it again, not now.

He had told her they were alone, but recalling his exact words is difficult through the haze of her mind and the prickling on the back of her neck makes it hard for her to believe anyway.

She drops the smoking gun and jumps up from her seat. She scrambles for her phone, patting her self down until she feels the bump. She entertains the thought of how odd it is to have it. That it probably should have been taken from her. But then again, she knows this wasn't how Wesley planned for this night to go. That he probably didn't care if she had it or not. She wasn't exactly expected to leave here tonight.

Pulling it out she dials a number she knows will be useless after tonight with shaking hands, and she makes the mistake of sparing Wesley another glance. She blanches at the sight he makes.

She almost cries in relief when her call is answered with dead silence.

 

Karen paces, eyes darting quickly back and forth, making sure to keep as much of her surrounds as she can in view. So when arms wrap around her her heart jolts with cold shock and she let's out a scream, thrashing around in an attempt to shake the hold the arms have on her.

“Karen - stop it, it's me!” an accented voice hisses in her ear. It takes Karen a moment and when her brain catches up and makes the connection she stops resisting.

She slumps back into Elektra's arms, trying not to hyperventilate as relief crashes into her like a punch to the gut.

Elektra takes the phone out of Karen's lax hands, drops it onto the ground and grinds her heel down into it. She grabs Karen by the shoulders, steering her to the car. She's patient, but Karen still catches her looking around, alert and on edge.

Elektra slams the door after tucking Karen away into the passenger seat and Karen presses her forehead against the window, the chill of the glass nice against her skin. She isn't sure, but she thinks she makes out a few unmoving bodies in the darkness.

The drivers door opens after a moment of quiet, and Karen watches as Elektra jumps in, ignites the engine, and tears out of there, dust and gravel flying up and hitting the sides of the car.

It startles Karen, but she's grateful for the hand Electra slips in hers, gripping it like a lifeline as the tires squeal down the road.

_:i:_

Something dripping echoes throughout the warehouse. Water, he imagines. His head feels like it's going to split in half and he's panting harshly as blood trickles down the side of his face. He grunts when a stabbing pain blossoms in his stomach.

He thinks he might throw up again.

The warehouse smells like mould and his skin crawls when he pictures what kind of surprises must be living in this water damaged shit-hole.

“ - So imagine my surprise when I find out my people are dead,” Matt says with a laugh.

As if it's a joke. And he's smiling, like he's entertaining a room full of wealthy and dazzling guests; endlessly charming. Like there isn't blood all over his two thousand dollar suit, like there isn't a man slumped in a chair before him, hands and feet taped to the legs and arms.

Matt twirls the blade between his fingers.

“And I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I mean, they were on time. No Fisk or police interference, not even a whiff of stale coffee or new money.”

There are cuts all over the man exposed chest and back. He's missing several fingers and toes and he keeps looking back and forth between Matt and the mutt at Franks feet, who's smiling as Frank scratches behind it's ears, not looking anything like the flesh eating scoundrel it's probably meant to be. The man petting it is staring through the man tied to the chair with a bored look on his face. Like he couldn't give a shit even if he tried. He alternates between mumbling things to Matt, petting the dog, and staring blankly.

“It would have been perfect if not,”Matt raises his hands in a airy gesture. “But then it dawns on me.”

He grunts when his head's pulled back by his hair, and he twitches when hot breath caresses his ear and cheek.

“I am so disappointed in you, Jay. Here I thought we really had something.”

Jay tries to get away as the blade makes contact with his pulse point, leaning away and whimpering under his breath.

He squeezes his eyes shut and let's out a shout as the blade cuts into -

He opens his eyes when a woman he's never seen before bursts through the door; black haired, petite, and looks just as bored as Frank does as she takes in the scene she just interrupted. She looks him over and dismisses what's happening in the span of half a second.

She instead focuses her attention on Matt, staring him down with a look in her eyes that makes Andy glad he's not the object of her attention.

“We need to talk. Now.”

She then turns on her heels and leaves as quickly as she came, not even bothering to wait for a reply or see if Matt will follow.

Matt is still for a second before disposing his blade on the table at his side. He gestures to Frank and the man rises. The dog at his feet whines at the loss of attention before huffing and settling its head on the ground.

They don't talk.

Matt simply slips through the door and the only warning Frank gives is a command to the dog to stay.

_:i:_

The street below them is quiet. A few people walk on past, the street laps most certainly bathing them in yellow and orange shadows, but to him, they're dripping red. He spares them no real thought as he processes what he's just been told.

“It's time, Matthew,” Elektra says from behind him. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”  
“This peace was for the greater good of Hell's Kitchen,” he snaps, and immediately reins himself in. He sighs and says in a gentler tone, more for his own comfort than for Elektra's – he doesn't think he's ever intimidated her in all the years they've known each other, “It was suppose to keep innocent citizens from getting killed in the crossfire.”

He's upset, though maybe not as much as he should be. After all, he's relieved Karen is alive and breathing and that Elektra didn't interrupt him to inform him they lost one of their own.

But he still mourns. James Wesley wasn't an alley or a friend, not by any means or stretch of the imagination, but Matt knows how much Fisk loved Wesley and he knows it's only a matter of time before Fisk finds out and comes breaking down their door. The only consolation to his pain is having Matt and his crews heads mounted to his wall.

And he has no doubt about Fisk knowing it was them.

“Do you know how they got Karen, or why?” Matt asks over his shoulder.

“Still trying to shut her up, I imagine,” Elektra snorts. She doesn't sound bothered though Matt knows it's the opposite. “The gun was loaded. So, either Wesley assumed he could simply scare her into silence with it, or he was planning on using it himself. Probably didn't think she had it in her to shoot let alone kill him.”

Matt nods. “And Fisk?”

“It was only Wesley and two other men. I doubt Fisk knew of their meeting. If he had...” she trails off, and Matt knows exactly what she's implying. One, either the meeting wouldn't have happened, or two, Karen would most definitely be dead instead.

He nods again.

“This isn't going to be pretty,” he says regretfully. He had truly hoped this peace would prevail. Frank and Elektra would say that makes him naive, but he isn't sure. Though it hardly matters now. The line has been crossed and he has a team to protect.

“When has it ever been,” Elektra says, coming to stand next to him. It's quiet for a while, and all too soon, sirens disturb the peace.

:i:

She's long since gotten use to them seemingly appearing at her side. Matt was usually more kind about it, tapping his cane on the ground or making her aware of his presence so as not to startle her.

Frank either didn't care enough or cared too much, making himself known with heavy stomps and stale coffee. She tries not to think about it, worried she'd drive herself mad if she looked into it too much.

Elektra, on the other hand, liked to silently slip beside or behind someone. Karen assumed it was fun for her, seeing how long it took before she was noticed. Seeing how people reacted.

This time, however, she announces her presence by holding a cup in front of Karen's face, the design the same as the one on Frank's coffee cups.

Karen chooses not to think about that either.

She takes it without a word.

It's windy out tonight, the sky dark and clouded with pollution but Karen thinks she can make out a star. It's wishful thinking, she knows, and she clutches onto the hot cup as the cool city winds whip her coat and hair around.

“We'll get through this,” Elektra says after the silence stretches out. Her voice is calm and steady and honestly devoid of any real emotion. If Karen didn't know her like she does, she would think the woman didn't really care.

And Karen wants to believe her, but has to laugh.

Elektra looks at her and once upon a time the woman's sharp, penetrative gaze would have made Karen uneasy and self-conscious, but now it's like an anchor. Something to embrace not fear.

“I've opened a gate to hell,” Karen says bitterly, taking a sip to discover it's in fact tea sweetened unmistakably with honey.

“That may be,” Elektra agrees, and Karen is grateful she's not going to pretend it's not bad, even though it makes her own stomach churn. She wonders how she's going to face Matt, because that's inevitable.

Matt's not cruel, but right now she can't imagine he's exactly pleased with what she's done.

“But we'll get through it,” Elektra continues, “We'll survive. War was inevitable and while the peace has its upsides, we were foolish to think it could last.”

“Fisk is going to come for us and it'd be even more foolish to think he couldn't possibly over-power us.” she takes a sip of her tea. “We'll be lucky if we die quick.”

Elektra nods. “Fisk is powerful, there is not doubt in that.”

When she doesn't continue, Karen looks over to find her staring straight ahead, her hair tied back in a braid, arms crossed over her chest. Karen wonders how she can look so vulnerable staring out into the night like that when she knows for a fact this woman is one of the strongest people she's ever met.

Elektra turns around sharply and makes her way back to the staircase leading inside, not sparing Karen another look.

“Don't underestimate our own power, Karen.”

_:i:_

The sun rises. Oranges and pinks splatter the sky as another day begins. The inhabitants of New York city start or end their days as the sky is painted blue. The weather is getting colder, ice clinging to people's dashboard windows and stinging their feet when they touch their floorboards with bare feet.

Foggy Nelson is among those people starting their day. His mouth is dry and he thinks about all the things he would do for another five mines of sleep as he drags himself out of bed and into the shower.

He doesn't make himself breakfast, and opts for stopping at the coffee shop across the street from his practice.

Balancing two cups of coffee along with his briefcase and this morning's newspaper, his brows furrow when he sees his friend and partner in crime, Karen Page, pacing back and forth in front of the office. He smiles though, not sure why he finds it amusing, but he does

“What, you loose your key or something?” Foggy asks teasingly as he approaches Karen.

She looks at him, wide eyed for a second before cracking a smile and shaking her head.

“Uh, no. I think I left it at home. Just one of those mornings, you know?”

He nods in understanding, looking her over. She does look pretty out of it, he concludes, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, and the way her usually pristine hair is frizzy and wild.

He shrugs and opens the door.

“Hey, did you see this,” he says as they get settled. He tosses the newspaper on Karen's desk, placing the coffee he got for her down beside it. She pays it no attention as she grabs the paper, opening it with a look on her face.

“No way,” she breathes out, and Foggy nods.

“Yeah, I know, right? Almost makes you want to pack up and run for the hills.”

Wilson Fisk's well-known right hand man, James Wesley, is on the front cover in all his bloody glory. White dress shirt splattered with red and black, mouth open, slouched back in a chair.

“How someone snapped a photo I have no idea, the poor idiot. But, I have the horrible feeling whoever that is will be the least of everyone's problems. Fisk is gonna go after whoever did this hard and I have a feeling we all know who.”

“Murdock,” Karen supplies, eyes roaming over the page quickly.

“Yeah, you know,” Foggy says walking around to his own desk, “I'm surprised they didn't have you cover this. You're usually their go-to person when it comes to mob activity.”

Karen nods absently, “Probably wanted something before it was gone and didn't have time to waste.” she puts the newspaper down and taps it, “This is James Wesley we're talking about, Fisk wouldn't leave him out on display.”

Foggy takes out his laptop, setting it up. He opens the lid of his coffee cup and watches for a second as the steam rises and disappears into the air.

He looks backup at Karen and watches as she smooths down the wrinkles in his skirt.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not wanting to be a nag but is too genuinely worried to simply drop it, “You look kind of sick.”

She glares at him, but it only makes the dark circles more prominent. “Gee, thanks, Fog.”

“No! You look great as always I mean,” he fumbles, grimacing “but you should probably lie down for a little while.”

Eventually, he gets to working. But only after Karen reassures him that she's fine and that really, it's just one of those days for the fourth time. It's a bit much and he can tell she's annoyed with him now, but that feeling in his gut makes it easier to persist. He's reluctant to just drop it and get work done, but then he thinks about the Johnson's case and it's all he needs to buckle down and spend some quality time researching and typing.

 

She doesn't make a habit of visiting the hospital during the day. In fact, she doesn't make it a habit of even

stepping foot inside the hospital, but there isn't time to waste and the thought of Claire stepping outside without knowing what's going on doesn't sit too well with her.

Elektra finds her eventually, in a hallway, talking down to some thug strapped to a gurney. He's yelling, but Claire effectively stops him with a raised hand:

“You can either shut up and let them numb you or they can stitch you back together with nothing and trust me, buddy, no one in here is in a gentle mood right now.”

The man does as he's told though he looks very pissed off about it, muttering his breath. Claire eyes him, but gestures to the person behind the gurney and he's wheeled away, both him and the other nurse disappearing around a corner.

Claire turns, shaking her head. She sighs as she makes her way down the hallway and doesn't expect the arm that shoots out of nowhere to grab and pull her into a supply closet.

She lets out a startled yell, fighting the grip around her waist by kicking out and hitting it with her fists and elbows.

“Bloody hell what is it with you women!” Elektra growls as she tries to tame Claire, not even the sound of her voice stopping her.

With a clean move Elektra is pinning Claire to the door, both woman panting into the small space between them.

“Are you quite finished?” Elektra asks, resisting the urge to lean in. They've never talked about it, both silently accepting whatever is there between them. To this day, Elektra has no idea if she was cursed or blessed that night this woman pulled her out of a dumpster and tended to her wounds.

She removes her grip on Claire, the woman's hands dropping to her sides, and takes a few steps back.

“What the hell is your problem?” Claire hisses, eyes bright with fury, “What are you doing!?”

“We need to talk,” Elektra says, and it only makes Claire more mad when the woman doesn't look sorry.

“And it can't wait? I'm working.”

“If it could, I wouldn't be here, now would I?”

Claire huffs, nostrils flaring. She folds her arms over her chest.“Then talk.”

Elektra does. Not bothering to spare her any details of what's been done and the multiple possibilities of what could happen next.

“So, what you're telling me is that there's about to be a turf-war for Hell's Kitchen.”

“No, what I'm telling you is that Fisk is coming for us and I'd rather you weren't in the dark about it.”

Claire shakes her head again, looking as if she has a lot to say about this, and under different circumstances Elektra knows she'd be getting an earful. But there's no time to argue. There's barely any time for this.

Instead, they stand in a loaded silence, only broken by Claire shifting back and forth on her heels.

“I appreciate the heads up, but I think I'll be fine.”

“I know you will be.”

Claire raises an eyebrow, eyes now regarding Elektra teasingly, and Elektra finds herself drawn in.

“What, no offers to hide me away?”

Elektra shakes her head. She reaches out despite Claire being too far away to properly touch her. She settles for touching the tips of her fingers to Claire's exposed arm.

“I like you in the light too much.”

Claire's about to say something, but the incessant beeping of her pager interrupts them before she can. Claire sighs once again as she checks it.

“I have to go,” she says, and she does, but not before stepping forward and grabbing Elektra's face in her hands and pressing a kiss to the other woman's forehead. She lingers for a moment, and Elektra takes the opportunity to close her eyes and gently circle Claire's wrists with her hands.

“Don't get killed. I like you alive too much.”

 

The rest of Karen and Foggy's day passes with not much excitement. They meet with a client who is being ripped off by her landlord, have lunch, and work at their respective desks until the sun begins to set.

Foggy comes out of his work with a stretch and a groan which seems to snap Karen out of her own work stupor. She looks out the window and is silent for a moment, simply watching as the sky once again alights with oranges and pinks.

She sighs. “Time to call it a night, I think.”

They go their separate ways with one final goodbye.

Foggy resists the urge to turn back and ask her again.

_:i:_

Hell's Kitchen is small.

So small, in fact, it seems almost unbelievable the amount of shit that goes down. But then again New York, in an of itself, feels like it's own planet sometimes. Disconnected from the rest of the world, revolving around itself. Plugged into it's own mainframe, caught in an endless, self-centred loop.

Yet Hell's Kitchen, just a small, insignificant piece of downtown Manhattan, seems to also be it's own thing, disconnected from the rest of New York.

Foggy isn't sure how it all works. But then again, it's not like he's brimming to the top with knowledge on how the mafia works. All he knows, his that Hell's Kitchen has been in this sort of unsteady edge of peace, kept by two, fairly unstable themselves, dudes.

There isn't a tape line, or any sort of indicator as to where one territory starts and the other ends, and for the most part, the citizens that reside in Hell's Kitchen get by with only minimal terror and harm. Foggy doesn't like to think about it too much, but the bosses were pretty good at reigning in their goons and associates. Keeping them from doing too much damage at once and are seemingly content to pick each other off one by one.

Though that's not to say they haven't done some fucked up shit.

This power these two men hold over the city is enough reason to pack up and move somewhere else, peace be damned. It wasn't exactly a secret that the peace was a precarious and unstable one; ready to explode at any second.

But he also knows it's part of the reason why he doesn't just go. There are people here that need his help. The people who get caught in the crossfire for no reason other than bad luck.

“Oh, Mr Murdock, hi.”

He's two blocks away from his apartment, thoughts on getting something to eat and possibly continuing on with a case when he's stopped by the presence of Matthew Murdock.

The sun is holding on by seconds, disappearing rapidly behind the horizon and he finds his unease rising with every second it gets closer to total darkness.

Matt smiles at him, wide and pleasant, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Foggy wonders how long Matt's been standing there. How long Matt's been trailing him.

“Good evening, Foggy,” his voice is as casual as his stance. “How was your day?”

Foggy's eyes flicker between the man and the sidewalk before him, feeling a little speechless.

“Oh...it was fine,” he manages after a beat of hesitation, ” just an average day.”

Matt nods, smile still in place. To be honest, Foggy has no idea what to do. No one explained this in school.

There was no class on what to do when one of the towns mob bosses shows up on your walk home and is adamant in making small talk. He doesn't know the etiquette or the rules.

And here he thought he'd be better at this considering this isn't the first time they've crossed paths.

Once is chance.

Twice is a coincidence.

Third is a pattern, and anything after that is most definitely intentional and crazy. But Foggy has come to the realization that he's very good at telling others to stay away from danger, and not so good at following that advice himself.

At first, Foggy thought it was because of his and Karen's clients. They help a lot of people who've been screwed over in the ripple effect started by either Matt or Fisk and their respective gangs of unfortunates.

He had wondered if his and Karen's snooping and digging finally came to bite them in the ass. Mind you, he isn't as deep as he knows Karen is. Working the newspaper on the side meant that Karen was more in the fray of things than he was. But he knows the Bulletin and her work there was important to her, so he never really brought up the possible affect it has on her. After seeing her today, though, he knows he needs to start asking.

But Matt never talks about work at all when they make small talk. Never bringing it up or mentioning the glaringly obvious fact about himself that Foggy is all too happy to ignore.

Foggy thinks about simply walking past the man and moving on with his evening, but doesn't want to risk it.

He also knows that deep down, that he thrives off of this.

So, it's with caution and anticipation that he walks up to the man and offers his elbow.

His heart is beating crazily in his chest and it gets even worse when Matt takes the offered arm with a surprised, albeit pleased hum.

“How was your day,” Foggy asks, a little curious. What does a powerful man like Matthew Murdock do to pass the time? Foggy can think of several bloody and disturbing answers to that wondering, but he pushes those thoughts away and instead focuses on the man on his arm.

“Nothing horribly interesting,” Matt says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Nothing good enough to talk about.”

Foggy read the paper this morning. He knows the man is lying. But as Foggy recalls the bloodied body of James Wesley splattered on the front of The Bulletin, he realizes it's probably best not to ask questions.

Besides, he has no idea if bringing it up would cause a negative reaction from the man. So far he's never been harmed or given any reason to think he would be other than the mans status and reputation.

...Okay, so he's been given a lot of reasons to feel unsafe around this man, but like he's come to realize; he's very good at telling others to stay away from danger but isn't good at following his own advice.

But instead he nods his understanding. “Must just be one of those days.”

Matt hums. “Must be.”

The rest of the walk is spent exchanging causal pleasantries. Both vague with their answers. Foggy a little stiff and unsure. Matt seems completely at ease, laughing and smiling.

Matt let's him go a little ways away from his apartment. Foggy knows it's because Matt already knows where he lives but is giving him a false sense of privacy to hold on to. It's nice of him really, Foggy supposes.

“Goodnight, Foggy,” Matt says, facing him, hand still on his arm.

“Yeah, goodnight, Mr Murdock,”

Matt laughs, the sound warm and pleasant, and it makes Foggy's heart flip without his permission.

“Please, Foggy. Call me Matt.”

He's terrifying and Foggy knows this deep in his gut and in the back of his mind. He just wishes his heart was on the same page. He wishes the man wasn't so appealing, didn't smile and have laugh lines, wishes that the romantic part of his brain didn't find this thrilling.

But when Matt grins and the lights of the street lamps reflect off his red-tinted glasses, Foggy thinks he understands why they call him Devil.

“Night, Matt,” he says again, and Matt let's him go but not before squeezing his arm.

Foggy doesn't look back, but if he did he would have seen Matt make his way to a sleek, black car hidden in the shadows, and get in.

 

“You gotta stop with this shit, Red,” is Frank's greeting when Matt shuts the door. Matt huffs out his nose and the grip on his cane tightens.

“It's not like I did anything.”

“You say that,” Frank says, pointing out to the darkened street, “but if you don't think for one second Fisk isn't already watching us then you're an idiot. You may as well shoot his brains out yourself.”

Matt doesn't argue though he wants to. They can go back and forth over weakness and vulnerabilities until they're both screaming and raw. But they both know neither are going to cave.

_:i:_

“Our choices are as clear as fucking day to me,” Frank says from his corner where he's cleaning one of his guns. The dog at his feet is sleeping, though it stirs every now and then when Frank or the others raise their voices. “We either storm them or wait to be stormed, and I don't know about you, but I don't plan on sitting pretty for death.”

“I agree,” Elektra says, glaring a hole into Matt's head.

Matt sighs. He does agree as well, knowing the risks gets higher and higher with every passing second.

“This isn't something we can just rush into.” Matt argues, “There's too much...unpredictability.”

“Look,”Elektra says, leaning against the table between her and Matt, “I'm all for planning and precision when the occasion calls, but sometimes you have to say fuck it and run right into it. We don't have time for perfect.”

“Fisk is just gonna want our heads,” Franks says, “He's not gonna spend any extra time scratching his ass and thinking shit through. So we can either stop with this pussy business and do something about it, or get the hell outta town.”

“It's never mattered before,” Elektra says, a perfect ending to Frank's little rant, and it's like a switch is flipped.

Matt feels anger surge inside him, red-hot and raw. He slams his hands on the table, pain shooting through his hands and wrists, he feels the wood of the table give in to the abuse.

He takes a moment, breathing heavily through his nose, he runs his hands through his hair.

“What about Foggy, huh?” Matt says, walking around the table and getting in her face, “What about Claire and Karen? All the good people who can get caught in the cross-fire?”

Elektra's nostrils flare, the only physical sign that he's hit a nerve with mentioning Claire. But, with his senses he can hear how her heartbeat picks up just enough, full of concern and anger of her own.

“Throw a fit all you want,” Franks says coming up beside Elektra, “As far as I'm concerned, they've made their decision.”

“Foggy hasn't.”

“No,” Frank says with a conceding nod of his head, “you took that from him when you couldn't keep it in your pants.”

Matt lunges at Frank, grabbing fistfuls of the mans shirt and throwing him against a wall. He hears wood lean and concrete crumble on impact, but Frank keeps his footing. Matt let's out a loud huff as concrete dust settles to the floor

“No one saw, I was careful,” Matt hisses, the dog barking off in the corner, Franks waves the mutt away and the room falls silent.

“That's debatable.”

He stops the first punch and the second but not the third, and Matt let's out a grunt when a fist connects with his face sending him back, he feels bone shift and blood start tickling out his nose. He stumbles, but is caught by his shoulders. Another blow sees him to the ground. He faintly hears Elektra calling Frank's name, voice full of warning.

“Hell, maybe you're right, Red,” Franks says, grabbing Matt and hoisting him up. “Maybe no one saw your little night-time meet-ups. Maybe all is in the clear, but that doesn't change the fact that you didn't stay away from him when you knew you should have. You're selfish and it may cost his life. So why don't you do what you can do to possibly save it, and do something other than waste our fucking time.”

Matt doesn't say anything, angry with the fact that Frank is right, and they all know it.

He wipes away the blood from his nose. Franks let's go of him with a push, rolling his shoulders back as he puts distance between them.

 

Karen watches all this silently from her own corner. She swallows her words and the want to protest and fight more than she already has this evening. Her throat is raw from her own arguing, her anger high from Matt's stubbornness and acting like he's the only one thinking of everyone else.

She watches Matt lean back against the now ruined table, Frank watching Matt as he pats the dogs head, and Elektra pace the space between them, arms crossed and lips tight.

Karen pushes off the wall and mutters about going to get some air. She isn't sure if anyone actually hears her, all of them too busy glaring and man-handling each other to take notice that they're not the only ones in the room.

She pushes the metal door and it opens with a nasty series of groans. The ground is wet and the light above the door is flickering in and out with a yellow buzz. Karen hugs herself and walks.

She walks with no destination in mind. She shivers, having left her coat behind, but is glad for the distraction; rubbing her arms with her hands, watching as her breath comes out in big, white puffs.

After a while of thinking and walking, she looks back up to see she's made her way to her apartment. She almost finds it funny. She stops in the middle of the sidewalk, looking longingly at the tall building that holds her bed, her shower, her life.

She continues walking, not seeing the shadow by her front door.

Her life. Just one big pile of lies and wants.

It could be worse, she supposes. She could have died that rainy night. She could have had no one and nowhere to go. Now she has...friends, a job, a place of live...

A shudder runs through her body, cold and violent. She frowns, looking back. The street she's on isn't empty. There's a person a few feet ahead of her and a group of people walking across the street, a car going by every now and then.

She looks back again and let's out a startled gasp when arms grab her from seemingly out of nowhere and haul her into the alley. She goes to scream, but a rough hand smacks over her mouth, squeezing her jaw with a strength that makes her think her jaw might be crushed. The pressure causes tears to spring to her eyes.

She makes noise regardless, screaming in her throat and trying desperately to thrash out of the grip this person has on her body. She feels the panic and fear rise inside, to the point where her entire body feels both hot and cold ad the hands grab and pull and bruise.

She gasps when suddenly dropped, landing on her hands and knees, and hisses as the pavement digs and bites into her skin. She rolls onto her side and her eyes widen when she registers she's about to be squashed under her attackers weight. She rolls out of the way, letting out another gasp as she watches the body fall to the ground.

She scrambles to her feet and looks around to see what's going on, only to find herself even more shocked.

Karen watches with wide, unbelieving eyes as Foggy raises a wooden base-ball bat, and lands sickly sounding blows to the mans body.

“What are you doing?!” Karen yells, incredulous. She looks Foggy over, taking in his defensive stance, the heaving breathes, and the baseball bat held back and ready for another swing at the first sign of movement. Her yell seems to knock him out of whatever trance he was in, however, and he stares at her, looking equally incredulous.

“Me?” Foggy yells back, “What are you doing!”

“No,”Karen yells, gesturing at Foggy and his baseball bat. “What. Are. You. Doing!?”

She let's out a yell through gritted teeth as her attacker rises, and reaches into her pocket for her pepper spray and let's him have it. When he falls to the ground once again, she turns back to Foggy.

“I was out for a walk when I saw this guy coming for you!”  
“You were out for a walk?” Karen asks, unbelieving. She looks around the street to see them blessedly alone. Not that anyone would come near two, seemingly unhinged people with a baseball bat and pepper spray yelling, but it doesn't hurt to check.

“Yeah!”

“With a baseball bat?”

Foggy looks a little sheepish, face red and breaths still coming out in pants. She knows she isn't any better, she swears she can feel her heart beating in all corners of her body. Her hands are shaking.

“Don't insult me and tell me the truth, Foggy.”

Foggy scoffs. “Touche.”

She crosses her arms, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don't know, why on earth would one of Fisk's goons be attacking you of all people?”

That makes Karen pause. She looks at his sharply, wondering how on earth he knew who this man worked for. She herself knew, but that was only because she's far deeper into the under-workings of Hell's Kitchen than Foggy knew.

She shakes her head.

“You know what they're like, Foggy. Who knows why they do what they do. Besides I do side work for a newspaper that loves to expose these guys,” she counters, “So, what I really don't understand is what you're doing out for a walk in my neighbourhood.”

Foggy clenches his jaw. He huffs out a breathe through his nose, the bat now at his side though his grip stays knuckle white.

“Okay,” he sighs, “ I wasn't out for a walk...I came over to make sure that you were actually okay,” Karen opens her mouth to interject but Foggy doesn't stop, “only to find you not home.”

She squints at the accusatory tone. Who does he think he is, Karen thinks, as if I have to be home. Like I don't have a life outside of work and our friendship.

“And you didn't just go home or call?”

Foggy gives her that look again. “I did call, Karen. Several times might I add,” and in a more lighthearted tone, adds, “Probably shouldn't listen to some of those voicemail's, I'm embarrassed for myself.”

Karen feels conflicted. On one hand, she knows she has the right to privacy and secrets. That she doesn't have to tell Foggy everything, nor is he entitled to everything. But that doesn't stop the guilt from creeping up.

She thinks about the new cell phone Matt supplied her with that night, after they talked. How it's still back at the warehouse. How Foggy's name and number were already punched in.

She shakes her head, shuffling her feet. “Look, Foggy,” she begins and feels her anger flare up again when Foggy rolls his eyes, “I can't tell you what's going on, okay, just trust me on this.”

“Can't tell me or won't?”

“Both,” she says without hesitation. It sounds bad, and she grimaces at the look on Foggy's face. How it crumbles yet she can tell he's having his own internal battle. But now that's she's said it, she understands just how true it is. Foggy is her only friend that hasn't been pulled into this.

But she's not stupid nor is Matt subtle.

She knows it's only a matter of time before their friendship and Matt's interest in him becomes a problem.

Sure, she could argue Foggy handles cases that deal with the backlash of mafia activity. That he's into this

enough to get the kind of attention that can put him in danger.

After all, he's certainly gotten Matt's.

But for the most part, Foggy's in the clear, and with what she knows is about to go down, she'd prefer it if he wasn't caught in the cross-fire.

He sighs. She looks at him.

“I don't like this...” he pauses and shakes his head, “Just – I need – can I take you home?” he stammers, and she knows he's trying. And fuck, she wants to say yes. The want to do so burning her throat. Instead, however, she shakes her head.

“No,” she says, feeling all-too alone for someone who's not, “I can take care of myself.”

_:i:_

Matt sits on a marble bench, hands gripping his cane. The people around him chatter in quiet awe and praise of the statues and artworks around them. He listens to their heartbeats, finding an odd thrill in how each and every work of art changes their moods and emotions. Kind of like sitting in the middle of a storm, but filled with admiration and a thick emotion that is surprising and positive. If not only the artwork and the artist, but of the viewers own reactions and emotions.

Matt doesn't acknowledge the man when he takes a seat next to him, and they both sit in silence for a while

“It's called 'Rabbit in a Snow Storm',” Fisk says, leaning in close. Matt assumes he's talking about whatever is across from them. He listens as Fisk speaks of it, fondness evident in his voice, before falling silent once more.

“I'm not going to kill you, Matthew.” Fisk says as if this should be obvious to Matt, and Matt finds himself a little surprised though doesn't show it.

Matt huffs out an amused laugh. “You've never been able to before.”

“Perhaps,” Fisk concedes with a nod, “But I was lacking the right motive before. I think you'll find revenge is perfect for getting the blood boiling.”

Matt hums. “So, if you aren't going to kill me, then what do you plan on doing?”

Fisk is silent for a while and Matt waits, the perfect picture of patient, but on the inside he's going at a thousand miles a minute.

“Vanessa is my heart and I thank you for keeping her away from our dealings. But so was Wesley,” Fisk says, and Matt feels his stomach churn. “So, I'm not going to kill you, Matthew. I'm just going to rip out your heart and squeeze until the life is gone and watch as you bleed out at my feet.”

Matt blinks. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Fisk turns to him, the move causing the fabric of his suit to shift and twist.

“Franklin Nelson,” The name rolls off Fisk's tongue in a manner too causal and innocent sounding that Matt feels his heart launch into his throat. He swallows thickly. Fisk notices.

“I hear he and Miss Page are a godsend to the lower community.”

“I-I'm familiar with their work.”

“I suppose you would be.”

“Wilson -”

“I do like you, Matthew.” Fisk interrupts, turning back to the painting, “But I'm afraid this isn't something you can talk yourself out of.”

“I'm wouldn't,” he replies a little to desperate and feels any control he may have had slip, “Wesley was a good man. I regret his death but I do not regret Karen defending herself. It was clear Wesley had intentions to kill her that night. If the situation were the other way around -”

“If it were the other way around you wouldn't waste time trying to keep the peace.”

“You don't know that.”

Fisk laughs a full belly laugh, but Matt can feel the static anger zinging throughout the mans body. When the false jolliness is done bouncing off the walls, Fisk leans in close and says in a low tone, “If it were Mr. Nelson's brains all over the pavement, the Devil would have come for my fucking balls.”

Matt is speechless with the knowledge that Fisk is right. If Elektra had come to him with the news that any of their people were found dead that night, he wouldn't have wasted time. He wonders what Fisk is waiting for.

Matt wets his lips.

“You know, I was wondering why you haven't come from us yet.”

A hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. Matt doesn't flinch.

“I'll see you soon, Matthew.”

Fisk leaves, and Matt is left to choke down his heart.

 

He's greeted with Elektra's arm pressing up against his jugular when he walks into the warehouse She slams him back into the wall and he drops his cane, hands coming up to grab her arm and twist it up and around until he's the one pinning her against the wall.

“You moron,” she hisses before kicking back, her heel connecting with his knee. He bends down losing his grip just enough to give her the advantage. She turns, and in one fluid motion, kicks him in the face. He falls and she

stands over him.

“Meeting him alone and on his turf? You're lucky I don't kill you.”

Matt laughs ruefully. “Get in line, Sweetheart.” He laughs again when she growls at the nickname.

She stalks away, leaving him to pick himself up off the ground.

“You're a fucking moron. That place was crawling with Fisk's people.”

“I think he's going to go after them.” is what he says in response. He feels Elektra tense and turn back towards him but he continues, “He's knows killing us won't satisfy his pain and anger. So he's going to do what we did to him.”

“What did he say specifically?.” Elektra asks, crowding into him, “Did he say her name?”

“No,” Matt shakes his head though it does nothing to ease Elektra. “But I'm not taking any chances.”

 

In a room upstairs, Karen sits, staring out the window. Outside, it's dark and the air cloudy.

She calls Foggy only to get his voicemail again. Realistically, she knows he isn't privy to everything about her life. That he has his own secrets and things he doesn't want to share with her. His own past and while she has a feeling it's nothing like her own, it's his and she respects that.

But when she thinks about the severity of this situation, how all this could end for her and possibly him, it makes her want to sit down with him and just talk.

There's a light knock on the door that makes Karen turn in her seat. She doesn't respond and the person on the other side of the door doesn't knock again.

She sighs and stands, grabbing her coat.

_:i:_

“You really think it'll be safe?” Karen asks Matt quietly as they wait. She's nervous, having just knocked on Foggy's door. Matt is standing out of view and Karen has to look back to talk to him.

“I can't guarantee anything, but if Fisk has anything, it's respect. I highly doubt he'll -”

He's cut off by the door opening.

“Karen?”  
“Hey, Foggy,” Karen breathes out, cursing herself internally at how she sounds.

“Are you all right, do you want to come inside?” he asks making room for her to go in.

She waves him off, “No, thank you, Foggy. I uh...I actually need you to come with us.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow at that. “Us?”  
She gives a quick glance at Matt, who takes her silence as his entrance and steps into Foggy's line of sight.

To say the look on Foggy's face is shock, is an understatement, and Karen feels her stomach flip and her heart pound harder in her chest, the combination not a good feeling at all.

“Matt?”

And when Foggy says his name Matt smiles, bright and warm, and Karen wonders how he manages it.

“Hello, Foggy.”

_:i:_

To say it's a bit uncomfortable is another understatement of the evening.

Karen feels a little bit like a kid being dropped off at summer camp with nothing but a pat on the head before her parents drive off with the promise to be back before she knows it. And while neither Elektra, Matt, nor Frank are her parents and she's a grown woman and they might all be dead soon, it somehow feels the same.

Foggy is still silent, the tension in the car was only made bearable when Frank started humming some song, but he still follows her as they make their way through the hospital. He even asks a nurse if he's seen Claire around, and while all they got was a shrug and a no, it still feels better than dead silence.

Eventually, she and Foggy find Claire in a crowd of nurses and doctors and patients. The room packed full with people all talking and yelling and Karen spares a thought to how shitty stealing Claire away will be, but she pushes that thought away and calls her name.

Claire turns and let's out a heavy sigh at the sight of them.

“Let me guess,” Claire says once they make their way over, “Calvary's off to save the day and we're to stay here.”

“Something like that,” Karen nods, “Yeah.” Foggy snorts. Claire turns a raised eyebrow to him.

“And you are...?” she asks.

“Foggy,” he says, sticking a hand out. Claire takes it. “Nelson.”

A look of recognition dawns over her features and Foggy isn't too sure how he feels about that look, “Ah, I see. Nice to finally meet you.” Claire let's go of his hand and sighs again. She looks back at the room and all the action going on.

“Do they really think this place is any safe?”  
“I think Matt's counting on Fisk's respect for the sick and dying more than it actually being safe,” Karen says.  
Claire shakes her head, “That's stupid.”

“Well, it's what they got.”

“And what do we got?” Claire asks, turning back to Karen and Foggy.

Karen shakes her head.

“No idea.”

_:i:_

“You honestly think you can convince me the hospital is the safest place for them to be?” Elektra growls out as she adjusts the straps across her front.

“I know I can't convince you.” Matt says, “But where else could they go?”

“We could have gotten them out of the city.”  
“Okay, well next time we have to do this, you can deal with that. I'd love to hear you try and stuff Claire in a car against her will.”

Elektra huffs at his side and Frank is quiet as they make their way to where they know Fisk with be. The gravel crunches under their feet and Matt pretends he doesn't notice the men lurking in the shadows, trailing them as they enter into enemy territory.

He hopes his right hands don't get a little kill happy on their way in. Matt knows they're fucked either way but he'd rather wait until their hand is forced. Not that there isn't much he could do if Frank decided to let some rounds off or if Elektra started throwing her blades. The threat upon them didn't put him in the best position to tell them no.

The doors open for them, seemingly on their own, and they walk into the centre of the room stopping just short

of where Fisk and a group of his men are standing.

“I see the final hour is upon us,” Fisk says with a sweep of his arms. The people around him all watch the three of them intently, fingers on triggers.

“I guess so,” is all Matt says.

“Just the three of you? The others couldn't make it?”

Matt chuckles and pretends he doesn't notice how Frank and Elektra both tighten their grips on their weapons.

“Well, after you threatened their lives, I figured it best to keep them as far away from you as possible.”

“But they're not far, are they?” Fisk says, “Can't keep track of them properly if they're too far from here, from you.”

“You're not going to lay a finger on them, Fisk.”

Now it's Fisk's turn to laugh.

“Do you think these are all my people?” he says, gesturing to the crowd around them, “Do you really think I would need them all just to take down the three of you?”

“I could take down this entire room before my fist cup of coffee,” Frank mutters beside Matt, getting Fisk's attention. But Matt tenses. He had hoped, but should have known.

“Why don't we test this theory,” Fisk says with an amused upturn of lips, “Meanwhile, I think I'm going to go pay the patrons of Metro-General Hospital a visit. Shall I send them your regards, Matthew?”

Matt rushes at Fisk, ignoring the synchronized sound of too many safety's being clicked back. He could easily throw aside the men that stop him, standing between him and Fisk, but he doesn't.

“Think of all the people there. The children who could get hurt.”

Fisk nods. “Usually I wouldn't dare risking the lives of the sick and dying, especially since they have nothing to do with this. But right now, I find I don't particularly care.”

Matt listens as Fisk leaves, and when the click of a door sounds through an otherwise quiet room, hell opens up.

_:i:_

“Foggy, will you just look at me.”

Karen, Claire, and Foggy all shared tense and borderline uncomfortable hellos. Karen's met Claire a few times before, but with Foggy fuming next to her and the current situation they're in, it's been an unpleasant reunion.

Karen sighs as Claire looks between them. “Come on, I know you're mad but we don't have time for this. Be mad at me later when we're not dead.”

“You're part of the mafia!” Foggy exclaims and Karen bats at him, shushing him as eyes of other people in the hospital turn towards them. She grabs his and Claire's arms and drags them into the closest empty room. Pushing them in, she peeks out the door to make sure they aren't being watched anymore. Satisfied, she shuts the door and draws the blinds closed.

She turns to them. Claire is standing with her arms crossed, hip jutted out as she looks at Karen with a look that tells her she's used to being told stupid shit and is just waiting for Karen to add to the list. Foggy, on the other hand looks like his world has been turned upside down. He's not moving, but is looking out the window.

“Yes,” she breathes out, “I'm part of the Devil's Mafia.”

Foggy shakes his head, “Amazing.”

Apart from that, it's quiet. Karen's eyes flicker nervously between the both of them. Claire, who already knew, simply nods. Foggy on the other hand pulls a 180 on her -

“So, that's how you're able to get all that insider info for the newspaper. You're actually inside!”

Karen feels dumbfounded, the motions takes over her features but before she can respond there's yell from the other side of the door and a crash that sends a jolt down their spines.

Karen grabs Claire, who's about to rush out, by the arm and pulls her back. They glare at each other, but it's broken by the sound of gunshots.

Karen peeks through the blinds, breath catching in her throat.

She remembers the feel of the rain. How it came down hard and soaked her to the bone. How Matt gave her clothes and a place to crash and an extended hand. How Claire came to his apartment and checked her out with a biting tongue and soft eyes. A gentle touch. She remembers the diner that will forever be imprinted in her mind. The smell of smoke and coffee and blood, how she screamed and Frank screamed back. She remembers

the feel of small, rough hands pushing her out of the way of her death. A flash of red lips and redder intentions as a body so small protected her like the entire universe inhabited it.

She remembers Matt nudging her in the direction of Foggy, and how since then, nothing has been the same.

“Shit.”

With the image of Fisk's men firmly imprinted in her mind, she drops the blinds and turns to Claire and Foggy. She ignores the panic welling in her gut.

“We're in trouble.” Karen makes her way over to the windows and looks down. Several black cars line the street and Karen clenches her jaw.

“What is it?” Claire asks, now at her elbow and looking where Karen is.

“Fisk's men are here and I don't think it's going to be a peaceful visit.”

“Here? At the hospital?”  
Foggy shakes his head, “Okay, so what do we do now. How do we deal with this?” He looks back and forth between the two women.

Claire sighs. “I can't tell you how many people are in this building right now, and if they have guns they could do some serious damage.”

“Well they're after us, yeah?” Karen says, “Then we let them get us. Lure them in. No one else needs to get hurt.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Claire asks, crossing her arms and turning to Karen, “I just said there are too may people in this building to be playing cat and mouse with a bunch of people with guns. I won't risk the lives of who knows how many people just so we stay alive.”

“Look, Fisk -”

“This isn't Wilson Fisk,” Claire says with a raised hand, “Those are his people and I don't care if Fisk has morals. His men won't give a damn. They've been given an order and won't care how it gets done, okay?”

They stare at each other for a moment before Karen nods.

“Okay, so what do you think we should do?”

_:i:_

The hallway is silent and poorly lit; a few of the overhead lights having been shot out from the earlier round of gunfire. They creep down the hallway, sticking close together. They reach a turn and stop short of it. They all look at each other before chancing a look around it.

“I imagine it won't take long for the rest of them to know what's going on. We just need to hold out until they get here,” Foggy says, peeking over Karen's shoulder, who is peeking over Claire's.

The hallway they're looking down is deserted, but there's no mistaking the black, matching suits and the giant ass guns each person is holding at the end of the hallway.

“No,” Claire says, “what we need to do is get us and them out of here with minimal damage.”

“But they've already shot off some rounds!” Foggy hisses, and both Karen and Claire shush his loud tone, “and I don't like how quiet it's gotten. It shouldn't be this quiet, right?”

And in response to Foggy's worries a bullet embeds itself in the wall behind where they're standing. They scurry back and Claire grabs them both by the shoulders and hauls them to the fire escape at the end of the hall, bullets and the shouts of men hot on their heels.

“You had to ask!”

_:i:_

Getting Fisk's men out of the hospital with surprisingly easier than they thought it would be, although highly stressful, what with all the running and shouting and the gunfire. But they made it outside and the worry of the hospital patrons has been lifted.

What they didn't really talk about in their plan, however, was what happened once they got outside. Because one moment Karen's with both Claire and Foggy, all running for their lives, and the next she's alone.

She stops running, her heart beating so fast in her throat she feels like she's going to be sick as she looks around the deserted street. She pants out into the night, throat raw and legs burning. She almost calls out for them but stops herself.

_:i:_

He has no idea how it happened, but he's alone in an alleyway with two not so nice looking dudes with guns and matching grins. He wants to make a joke, something like 'hey you guys come here often,' but he as a feeling he knows the answer to that particular question already. He really doesn't need any details.

He does, however, say this instead: “You guys wanna talk about this?”

The two guys share a look. The one on the right shrugs.

“Not really, no.”

“No? What if this was my dying wish? You'd deny a dying man his last wish?”  
The one on the left speaks this time, “There are no 'ifs', pal.” He punctuates his sentence by pointing his gun at Foggy.

“Right, right. Orders. Then who am I to get in the way of you and your orders. Which is super official sounding, by the way, orders. Also quick question, do you guys get vacation time? Two weeks? If not, I'm a lawyer -”

“Damn, dude, shut up.” says the one on the right, and Foggy now finds himself on the wrong side of two guns.

He knows what's gonna happen next. He's seen these types of movies and sadly he doesn't have the ninja moves required to get out of this one. So he does what he can and lifts his chin and looks dude on the left, then dude on the right, in the eyes.

He waits.

So maybe it's not him who as the ninja moves, but Claire, who comes out of nowhere and rushes towards the men, bashing one on the right in the back of the head with what looks to be a brick. The other guy turns to face her as she's still bent over the other guy, gun raised and lips pulled back in a sneer.

“No!” Foggy shouts, and rushes towards him. He grabs the guy from behind and yanks him backwards. They end up on the ground and the mans gun topples out of his hands. They struggle against each other, the man trying to get free and grab his gun, Foggy holding onto the man for dear life.

“Can you bash his brains in already!” Foggy yells at Claire and before he can even take in another breath Claire is standing over them both, brick raised. It comes down on the mans head once, then twice before he stops moving under Foggy.

They're still for a little while, and when the man doesn't move again, they both breath a sigh of relief. The brick falls from Claire's hands and thunks to the ground.

They're both panting as they regard each other in the dimly lit alley. Foggy looking up at Claire from where he's crouching on the ground.

“You're awesome.”

Claire smiles and kicks at the ground, “You're not so bad yourself.”

They high-five.

“You think they're dead?” he asks, looking at the two men lying motionless on the ground.

Claire shrugs. “Right now, I don't give a shit.”

That causes Foggy to laugh. He stands up, brushing off the dirt he's gotten all over himself. Well, at least he can now scratch 'wrestling with a mob-goon' off his bucket list.

The moment of peace is short lived, however, both startled into action by screams. They rush to the exit, stopping short of actually leaving the alley and Foggy feels his heart drop at the sight. He turns to Claire, to make sure he's not just seeing things, but finds her staring with wide eyes and a pale complexion. Eyes locked on Karen.

They watch with horror as the men have Karen kneel on the street, head pulled back by her hair and a gun at her throat.

“We have to get her out of there,” Foggy says, his stomach churning at the sight of his best friend.

“How do you suppose we do that?”  
Foggy looks at Claire, then down the alley to where the two guys are lying motionless, then back at Claire.

She looks at him, suspicious, before her eyes widen with understanding.

“You're insane,” she says, but runs back with him and grabs a discarded gun off the ground.

“Yeah, but it's all we got.”

_:i:_

It wasn't the best nor the most effective thing, but it worked to a degree. Sure, he wasn't expecting the kickback and had no fucking clue what he was doing, but their attempt was enough to get the attention of the men surrounding Karen and make them come towards them.

Which was the plan, but now that they have too many gun-happy people on their case once again, Foggy has no idea what they thought would actually happen when they did this. They didn't actually stop to talk about it, and from knowing Claire for roughly an hour, Foggy already knows she's usually the voice of reason. But he's willing to over-look her not smacking him upside the head from simply thinking of this stupid idea because of the stress of the situation.

He also wished he had something cool to say as he and Claire reenacted just about every action movie ever, but all he can do is scream in his mind as they run from one side of the street to the other, praying to whatever the fuck is out there that they somehow make it out alive as the sound of guns roar in his ear and they somehow dodge the onslaught of bullets coming their way.

The three collide together on the other side of the street, but there's no time for talk as they run for their lives. They duck into an alleyway and run down it to the other side. They hear the rumble of foot falls that aren't too far behind, the sound like a fire being lit underneath them. Foggy discards his gun and wonders how the hell anyone can run and handle a gun simultaneously, but Claire seems to better at doing it than him, gun still held tightly in both hands as they race out the alley and onto another street.

It's what Claire said it would back at the hospital – a game of cat and mouse. There are no real places to hide and too many of Fisk's people to not be spotted anywhere. But then that doesn't seem to matter, because they knew their luck was sparse and short-lived, they just hadn't realized how close to the end they were.

They came to a sudden stop, stumbling over each other when they notice a crowd gathering at the other end of the street. They turn around, but don't move when the group chasing them catches up.

Closed in and having nowhere to go, the three stand together.

However, the crowds make no attempt to rush them. They stand where they are, being silent and menacing from

a grateful distance.

“What are they waiting for?” Foggy asks, not daring to look away from the crowd behind them.

Karen shakes her head, looking rather confused herself. It's Claire who says, “I think it's more like 'who' are they waiting for.”

“Oh fuck,” Karen sighs and all Claire does is nod.

And as if summoned by their words a long, black car drives through and stops just in front of the trio, the headlights shining bright in their face.

Wilson Fisk steps out of the car, and Claire raises the gun she still has and, much to Foggy's awe and Karen's surprise, steps in front of Karen.

Fisk regards her for a moment, looking Claire up and down before dismissing her and directing his attention at Karen. Foggy thinks about how Claire took out two men with a brick and wonders how on earth Fisk doesn't see the danger right in front of him.

“It appears you've given my men quite the time trying to catch you, Miss Page.”

His voice is not what Foggy thought it would be. Sure, he's seen the man on TV but usually he's commanding the attention of a crowd and is talking in a loud, booming voice. Here, it's calm and quiet and almost gentle. The look in his eyes, however, can't be described as the same.

Karen swallows. “Yeah, well, maybe you should hire better help.”

Fisk chuckles. Claire's finger twitches.

“None of your friends need to get hurt, Miss Page. Do the right thing, and come with me. I promise no harm will come to them.”

Karen laughs a humourless laugh. “You're full of shit, pal.”

“I could just take you all by force, if you'd prefer.” Fisk shrugs. “I have no qualms about killing your friends. Especially seeing as I have already done so to the other three.”

Quietly, beside Karen, Foggy feels his heart launch into his throat. He doesn't want to believe the man, but after the stressful night he's had, it's almost too easy.

“Matt,” he breathes out, and Karen grabs his arm a little too forcefully to be taken as comfort.

“You're lying,” Claire says from Karen's other side. “I bet you sicked your pets on them and didn't stick around because you're a fucking coward.”

Karen fights down a smile. Foggy's pretty sure he's a lot in love with both woman.

“You heard her, we don't believe you.”

“No matter,” Fisk says, adjusting his cuff.“It's you I want and if you also want to drag Miss Temple and Mr Nelson down with, that's your choice.”

“He was going to kill me,” Karen hisses, reaching out for Claire and tightening her grip on Foggy's arm. “It's not my fault he didn't have the guts to just do it and had to put on a fucking show.”

Fisk's face twitches, a crack in the otherwise blank facade and Claire raises the gun higher. Foggy has a feeling

this is going to be even worse than originally thought.

Then, like something out of the movies, a blade embeds itself in the forehead of a goon flanking Fisk, and everyone watches as he crumples to the ground, a shocked silence falling over the street. The three turn around and watch as Elektra, Matt, and Frank roll in looking, admittedly, not too great but somehow amazing nonetheless.

They look dangerous and pissed and incredibly hot. Foggy hates all three of them.

That's all it takes for the street to erupt into chaos. All Karen knows is that she's being pulled by both Foggy and Claire, all three somehow untouched by the others in the crowd. She looks back again and watches, confused, as Frank stops and kneels on the ground.

She looks away with a jolt when Elektra grabs both her and Claire, practically tackling them out of the way as Matt grabs Foggy, the five of them hauling it to safety.

Karen watches, eyes wide with disbelief as Frank, from his crouched position on the ground, holds what looks to be a rocket launcher. She barely has time to ask how the hell before it's being fired into the scattering crowd of Fisk's men and lights the night up in a blaze of glorious fire.

The light is blinding and burning, but Karen watches it until it dims She sees his silhouette stand, and feels her heart constrict as he walks out of the settling dust. She gets up and runs.

 

The screams are terrible and Foggy feels a little detached as he watches the comical way the lit up bodies waddle around trying to put the flames out. Rolling on the ground and running through the street like chickens without heads..

His attention is pulled away from the flames by a hand on his face. He flinches, but when he realizes it's just Matt, he moves closer.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks, and Foggy doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry or scream or what.

“No offence, but this is the worst first date I've ever been on.”

Matt startles at Foggy's words, but it only lasts for a second before he smiles. “Oh, I think we're well past the first date.”

“Well, considering I just met the family I kinda have to agree.”

Matt hums, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Well in that case,” and he grabs Foggy by the back of the neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Now, if you two are done,” Foggy hears and he looks up to see Frank standing over them, Karen peeking out behind him, a white-knuckle grip on his arm.

“Where's Elektra? Claire?” Matt asks as Frank pulls Foggy, then him, up.

“Couldn't tell you,” The man says before turning and heading back out into the street, his coat flapping behind him, Karen still clutching his arm.

_:i:_

“I need you to stay here,” Elektra says before standing up. The street is bright with dying flames and there are still dangers. Still Fisk out there.

When she had grabbed both women she'd gotten them to an alley right before the explosion. Karen hadn't even waited for the flames to die down before running out, Elektra assumed, to find Frank. Claire, blessedly, stayed with her, watching the flames lick the pavement and the mouth of the alley with a far away look in her eyes. Elektra had kissed her cheek, and the woman's concentration broke.

The hand that stops her is somehow cold. She looks down at Claire who is staring up at her with that look that makes Elektra want to rip her arm out of the woman's grip, but at the same time stay and gather her up.

“Believe it or not, I don't want you getting hurt.”

Elektra huffs. “We don't have the time for this.”

“Then make time.”

“He's going to get away!”

“Who cares!?”

Elektra grabs Claire back, and yanks the woman to her feet. She pulls her close and says, with the hairsbreadth of space she's allowed them, “Because he tried to hurt you and I want to make him pay for that. Is it so wrong of me? To want to protect you?”

There's a beat of silence and Elektra finds a spot of worry blossoming in her chest at the dazed expression on Claire's face, possibly from the fumes of the explosion and all that has has happened this evening catching up with her.

“God, you're so cheesy.” Claire says before closing the distance between them, and capturing Elektra's lips in a kiss.

It was a long time coming, Elektra knew. It was something they danced around and ignored in a teasing way, but there all the same. She thought she was prepared for it, but right here right now, feeling the press of Claire's body against her own, her hips under her palm like a lock and key, and the softness of her lips was unlike anything Elektra could have ever dreamed of.

She's kissed plenty of others before, but maybe because Claire matters more to her than she ever thought possible, that makes this almost too much.

“Stay here, please.” she pleads against Claire's lips. “Or find the others, but I swear you better be safe.”

She steals another kiss before taking off down the alley.

Claire watches her go and unconsciously touches her mouth.

_:i:_

Elektra bursts out of the alley, prepared for anything. Her blades make home in stomachs and throats of faceless goons, and she pays no mind to Matt and Frank who are dealing with their own fights.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him.

Elektra watches, as she impales a man with her Sai's, raises him over her head, and flings him into the night, as Fisk and a couple of his men get into a car. Snarling, she dodges two men who run at her and swiftly stabs them both in the back, not bothering to watch as they fall to the ground and yanks her blades back.

She runs, but is stopped by another one and before she can move, arms wrap around the man from behind and raise him in the air.

He squawks, dropping his gun as he grabs the body holding him, squirming. She grins when Frank throws the man in her direction and she holds out her blades, the man's face one of horror as he's impaled. He slowly sinks down the blade and she kneels, holding his weight gladly as he gets closer and closer with a sickening sucking sound. When their noses touch, she flings him aside with one last grin.

She and Frank share a nod before he's off, his own guns blazing in the night.

The tires of Fisk's car squeal, catching her attention once again, and Elektra bolts.

 

Surprisingly, she's never been surfing, but she figures this is close enough. With sure footing and determination, Elektra walks the roof of Fisk's car, the wind harsh on her face. She gasps when the car starts to swerve and she sways, and for a second she worries she might actually fall off.

But she finds her centre again and kneels. Reaches behind her, Elektra draws out one of her blades and stabs it through the roof of the car.

She's jostled to the side as the car takes a hard turn and this time she does fall, swinging off the side of the car; her white-knuckle grip on her blade the only thing stopping her from meeting cement.

She grunts as she pulls herself up, gasping as she flexes and tries to find purchase with her boots on the smooth car door.

Suddenly, said car door opens up, smashing into her body, her grip on the blade loosening. It closes again quickly and before the goon inside can open it again Elektra reaches back and drives her second blade through the window and creates red-stained glass.

The car takes another turn, but she uses the firmly embedded blade to hike herself back up on the roof. On her stomach now, she yanks the first blade out of the roof and stabs it back in and pulls in towards her, the metal screeching as it's forcefully pulled back again and again. The strength of the metal pulls her forward a bit and it's like time slows. Her hair wild in the wind, the street lamps gold and dingy. She swears she hears the cracking of glass, like the way an iced over lake breaks apart layer by layer until it separates and gives way to the freezing water below.

She looks up and her breath catches in her throat as a bullet breaks free and narrowly misses her face. The sound it makes ringing in her ears as she looks ahead.

The dead end they're on.

Time crashes back and she curls in on herself to miss the rain of bullets that pierce the windshield and clatter to the street.

She yanks her blade out of the roof and turns herself so she's facing the drivers side, and with a deep breath she peeks her head over the side and figures if it worked before, why not now, and drives the blade forcefully through the window.

The bullets stop, but the car gears off to the side towards the sidewalk and buildings.

Elektra leans further over the side of the car and opens the door. Her blade comes away with a sucking sound and dripping red, and she pulls it out of the glass and slips it back in it's sheath. Reaching inside, with one hand steady on the edge, of the she grabs a fistful of the dead driver and pulls him out of the car, his body rolling away with the speed of the car.

With some manoeuvring, she falls into the drivers seat, twisting to get into position, hands slamming onto the steering wheel. She straightens in her seat and turns the steering wheel in the other directions, the car skidding along the pavement and narrowly missing the corner of a building. With a heavy exhale, she presses her foot down hard on the accelerate, the car engine growling under the demand.

Suddenly, her ponytail is grabbed and her head is yanked back. She let's out a yell as her hands let go of the wheel and scratch at Fisk's as he continues to pulls. He's leaning over her seat and manages to secure an arm around her neck, pulling her back against the head-rest. She feel the heat creep up her face, the balloon like feeling as he cuts off the air and she tries to pry him away.

They share no words, though it doesn't matter in the end. Elektra slams her foot down on the accelerate and let's out a strangled laugh as the car crashes spectacularly into a building.

_:i:_

The dust settles and the scene is quiet until Elektra kicks the door open, falling gracelessly out of the drives seat and onto her feet. Her knees buckle and she falls to the ground, panting over broken glass and chunks of brick. She gives herself a moment before she gets up and brushes off her front.

She hears footfalls approaching.

A quick glance up tells her it's over.

Matt reaches her first, touching her arm in passing and immediately going to the wreck. She watches as he kneels down next to the back seat door, bent and warped from the crash. He presses a hand to it and drags his palm over it.

“Holy shit,” says a voice at her right, her grin grows at Foggy's expression, but the body that presses against her side is the one that makes her sharp grin soften. She looks at Claire, who is staring at Elektra's mess, expression almost calm and nothing like the comically horrified one Foggy is sporting. She reaches for Claire's hand and feels content when their fingers intertwine.

“You're in idiot,” Claire says to her, obviously trying to keep her voice neutral. But the worry is there and it makes Elektra smile.

“I'm so going to yell at you about this later.”

Elektra hums. “Only if you promise to do it loudly and passionately.” Claire's jaw clenches, a ghost of a smile on her lips she's trying to fight. Elektra counts her victory.

A low whistle sounds and Claire turns to see Frank strolling on over, Karen still at his side. Her expression mirrors Foggy's, who is now inching closer to Matt, who is assessing the damage with that pinched look he gets whenever he's conflicted. Elektra wants to smack it off his face, but makes no attempt to move away from Claire.

“Looks like someone had some fun.”

Elektra smirks. Claire rolls her eyes.

Matt who makes his way back with a gentle hand on Foggy's arm, says, “A little too much, but Fisk is still alive. He'll need medical attention.”

Franks scoffs. “Don't owe him shit and you know it.”

Matt tilts his head to the side, in agreement, Claire thinks.

“So, it's not over,” Karen says, eyes flickering between them all. She takes a step back and away from them, hugging her middle as her face displays a slide show of emotions. Frank is watching her with an expression Claire isn't sure she understands.

“Karen,” Matt tries before Karen raises a hand, stopping him.

“A trip to the hospital isn't going to stop this man from trying to kill me. Or any of you for that matter.”

Claire looks between Karen's fiery gaze and Matt's tired one. She knows Karen is right, that the chances of Fisk surviving and dropping the matter is nonexistent. But right now she is tired, filthy, and so over this whole evening she just wants to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep.

Elektra's thumb runs over her knuckles.

“So, what are you gonna to do with him?” Claire asks before Matt can say anything.

In response, Matt grins wickedly, and Foggy finds himself a little more than turned on.

_:i:_

In the end, Foggy decides he doesn't want to know what happened to Fisk. He's curious, of course, but at the end of the day, if he doesn't know what happened, then he doesn't have to think about what Matt has possibly done. Or what Karen has possibly done. Or what any of them have possibly done. Not that he's the innocent one in all this, but still.

Deniability is a good thing in this case, he thinks.

The bell above their door rings when he enters, Karen looking up from her desk at the sound. She smiles when she sees it's him and he smiles back, holding up the coffee and box of treats he got at the coffee shop down the street.

They don't talk about it. Foggy thinks they should, but they don't. He isn't sure what Karen thinks but sometimes he catches her looking out the window, spaced out. Or when they go for walks at lunch together she stays silent, eyes looking ahead like they see more than they ought to. He doesn't really know if she's okay. He's guessing not really, if the dark circles under her eyes, or the redness of them, and the shaking of her hands are any indication.

But they never talk about it, and he can admit he's a little more than worried. He should be better at this, he thinks. He hand no problem prying before all this happened. And maybe that's why he's hesitating now.

He almost asks Matt, but stops himself. He isn't sure where that relationship is going either. Everything a little too...big to be considered natural though he does think Matt's interest is genuine.

All good things come with time, he supposes. Maybe one day he and Matt can be something good together.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is his best friend is hurting and the fact that he hasn't talked to her sooner is gnawing a hole in his heart, and he realizes heavily, that he doesn't deserve her.

And he wants to.

Foggy places the box of treats and Karen's coffee on her desk with a clumsy flourish that makes the corner of Karen's eyes crinkle. She thanks him with a big smile as she takes the lid off her drink, blowing the steam away.

He takes a seat in the other chair at her desk and slouches back. He sighs, and their eyes meet.

He takes a deep breath, and asks.

_:i:_

Claire feels exhaustion in every inch of her being. The automatic doors swish out of her way as she walks sluggishly outside. The cold hits her immediately, and she glares at nothing as she adjusts her sweater and bag.

She looks both ways as she crosses the parking lot and then again as she crosses the unusually quiet street.

Claire hears her before she sees her.

“Long day?”

Claire stops and looks over her shoulder to where she heard her voice. She sees nothing but a faint outline in the shadows.

“Always.”

“Coffee?”

“Only if you come out here.”

Elektra huffs out a laugh and Claire watches as the outline kicks off the wall and waltz out of the darkness and into the yellow-lit sidewalk.

Their fingers brush as Claire takes the offered coffee.

Elektra's ever present smirk is there, eyes twinkling with mischief and pleasure and Claire responds with a smile of her own. Though more tired and amused than anything else.

They fall into step with each other, shoulders brushing as they walk in silence. A car passes them every now and then and Claire wonders each time if that's the car that will have her called back to the hospital.

“You think too much,” Elektra says, eventually. She sounds matter-o-fact and Claire raises an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” she asks wryly. “One of us has to.”

“Oi! I think.”

“Do you? Never would have guessed.”

Elektra hip checks her and Claire stumbles sideways, eyes wide as she watches her coffee slosh around the rim of her cup. She looks back up at Elektra to see the woman smiling, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Watch it,” she warns before taking another sip.

She inhales sharply through her nose when the cup is suddenly ripped from her hand and she looks over in time to watch Elektra throw both their cups into the street, the coffee smacking the pavement. The woman looks back at her looking all too smug for what she's just done.

“What the - ?”

“You know, we haven't kissed since that night,” Elektra says, effectively stopping Claire's words.

Claire's a little taken back, not too sure what that has to do with this. She takes a second to mourn her coffee, which now running down the street. A very sad scene to behold. She looks at Elektra, the woman staring at Claire with all the intensity of the world, but somehow manages to look nonchalant. Casual.

“I know.”

It's really all she can say. Part of her doesn't want to admit she's thought about it. That it fills up any spare minute she's had. That when she gets home after too many hours at the hospital and crashes, her sleepy mind reminds her of how gentle it was, how nice it felt. How she'd like to do it again over and over.

“Shame,” Elektra sighs, and for a naive second Claire thinks that's all that's going to be said on the matter. But then Elektra reaches out and wraps a careful hand around her wrist, tugging her forward.

Claire goes willingly and all it takes is a small step forward for an arm to wrap tight around her waist, the other still holding her hand, and for lips to capture her own in a kiss that warms her head to toe.

_:i:_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know some people might not like the ending being so open ended, but I honestly couldn't decided on what I wanted to have happen with Fisk. Now it's up to you and whatever you decide.
> 
>  
> 
> waynesgrayson
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Holidays! xx


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